


social constructs and hypothermia

by wasted_potential_007



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: F/F, Hypothermia, Kisses, Light Angst, Medical Inaccuracies, New Year's Eve
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-31
Updated: 2018-12-31
Packaged: 2019-10-01 06:08:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,093
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17238824
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wasted_potential_007/pseuds/wasted_potential_007
Summary: fun fact: Maria's never been kissed on new years before.(guess what happens next)





	social constructs and hypothermia

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: from tumblr. “Person A complaining about how they’ve never had a New Year’s kiss before so Person B surprises them with a kiss when the clock strikes midnight.”
> 
>  
> 
> wow look who's back from the dead

“Romanoff.”

Maria holds Natasha who’s laying in her lap, cold water dripping off Natasha and melting into the snow as they wait for an extraction. The mission was successful enough, at least in Maria’s eyes, since they did retrieve the data they were supposed to.

Except it had involved Natasha taking a plunge into a small lake in the cold, Soviet winter on New Year’s Eve, the hard drive with the data safe in a waterproof compartment somewhere in Natasha’s suit.

“Hill,” Natasha murmurs, her green eyes cracking open just enough so that Maria can see the moonlight glare off her pupils, “Jesus.”

“Hard hit you took there,” Maria says.

“The ice hurt.”

“Sounded like it did.”

Maria remembers the sound of Natasha’s body crashing through the ice layered over the lake; remembers why she prefers to stay in a command center instead of the field. This mission is an exception, of course, since Barton had decided to get himself shot a couple of times and plant his ass in a SHIELD hospital bed for the holidays.

“Happy goddamn New Year,” Natasha murmurs. “‘would shake your hand or something, but ‘can’t really feel my arms.”

“I should’ve cleared that building quicker,” Maria says, grabbing Natasha’s wrist, feeling the water in Natasha’s cold bodysuit seep into her own. The wrist is heavy in her palm, icy and limp, and Natasha’s pulse is weaker than it should be.

“You were shot at.”

“‘o were you.”

“Not by twenty…”

Maria watches as Natasha’s eyes flutter and her head lulls, notices how she isn’t even shivering anymore and how her fingers are blue; from the moon’s lighting or from hypothermia she can hazard a guess.

(hint: it’s probably the hypothermia, since the moon’s light doesn’t make anyone’s pulse thready, even if they’re a werewolf or vampire or something. And Maria’s pretty sure Natasha’s not any of those creatures anyway.)

“Hey.” Maria says. “Stay with me here. Can’t have you pass out.”

Natasha's eyes flutter open and Maria takes it as a good sign, checking the time and how far the extraction team is.

“It’s almost midnight,” Maria comments. “New year’s almost here. You got any fun traditions?”

Natasha doesn’t say anything even with her green eyes cracked open, her mouth slightly agape and hair almost frozen solid in the cold. And from her many years of extensive military training, Maria knows she should make conversation and keep Natasha awake. Even if there’s nothing interesting to talk about.

“You know,” Maria can’t help that she shifts uncomfortably, even with Natasha’s weight in her lap. And she can tell Natasha notices because the agent’s eyes crack open just a little wider.

“I’ve never been kissed on New Year’s before.”

Maria doesn’t know why she said that or what she even wants (if anything), but then she checks her watch and it’s already 0001, and she can hear the sound of a Quinjet flying towards them.

Natasha mutters a slight “huh” that also could’ve been the wind and Maria’s about to read into it when she feels the blast of cold air from the Quinjet above them. A cable and harness are dropped down from above and Maria straps herself in, clutching onto Natasha as her feet leave the ground.

The lake and Soviet compound disappear under her feet as they are lifted up into the Quinjet; somewhat ironically, Maria swears she hears the sound of fireworks on their way up.

\---

_8 years later._

Maria lounges on her couch, lazily flipping on the TV to some New Year’s countdown with bright lights and some annoyingly cheery hosts.

She turns it off a second later, after they show some couple already drunkenly making out even though it’s only 2350.

She can’t say her life, right now, is better than it was two, five, eight years ago, but now she’s with Stark, not SHIELD, and she would be lying if she said it didn’t feel disorienting. SHIELD had been where she’d grown up, found some direction in life that wasn’t listening to some old man gathering dust behind a chair and the US government in general.

She’s certainly changed since her days as a novice SHIELD agent, although whether good or bad she doesn’t know.

Maria stands up, about to pour herself a cup of wine when she hears a clank from a dark corner in her apartment. All her senses go on alert, and she instantly grabs her gun from the counter, holding it like she has so many times before.

“Don’t shoot, Maria.”

And it’s Natasha, standing there in her living room with snowflakes in her red hair.

She doesn’t relax even though it’s Natasha but lowers the gun, setting it on the coffee table.

“Thanks for breaking into my apartment.”

“You’re welcome,” Natasha says, looking around Maria’s apartment and for some reason, Maria feels like it’s her under the scrutiny of those green eyes. “Seriously? Wine on New Years?”

“What were you expecting?” Maria snorts. “A full-blown black-tie gala?”

“You know I hate those as much as you do,” Natasha responds. “Come on. Break out the champagne. We’ve got two minutes to go.”

Maria lets out a sigh as Natasha invades her kitchen, checking cabinets for champagne flukes. “You are aware that New Year’s is an entirely human construct? It’s just another day that people decided to make special, only because some piece of paper says that 365 days have passed and therefore we should-”

Maria’s suddenly cut off by a pair of lips on hers and the TV magically turned on blasting “Happy New Year” or some bullshit that she doesn’t believe in but Natasha’s kissing her, not like a peck on the lips  but a full-on _kiss_ and she suddenly understands that drunken couple on the TV.

“Jesus,” Maria whispers as Natasha pulls away, her green eyes twinkling. “You remembered.”

“Of course I did,” Natasha says. “I wasn’t going to let you go without a kiss.”

“8 years late?” Maria asks, cocking up an eyebrow. “I mean, not like I’m unhappy or anything-”

She’s cut off again by Natasha’s lips and she feels herself melt into the kiss, holding Natasha close in her arms except this time there isn’t icy water seeping into her suit or the feeling of a Russian winter in her bones.

Again, she doesn’t let herself think of the implications even though her mind’s rushing to make sense of this, whatever this is; Natasha warm in her arms, lips against hers, pulse fast and lively.

And somewhere in the distance, she hears fireworks.

**Author's Note:**

> holy run-on sentences i might have written this in the two-and-a-half hour window of 1 - 3:30 am oops. also i've been super busy and had some intense writers block so this isn't as smooth as i want it to be.
> 
> anyways, happy (late) holidays everyone and happy new year! may 2019 be a hell of a lot better than 2018.


End file.
